


Movie Night

by finnick



Series: tw bingo [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5920009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnick/pseuds/finnick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Erica reserve Saturdays for spending time with each other. They're really bad at trying new movies, but they're really good at arguing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> my precious babies deserved so much better tbh. this isn't so much a relevant note as a statement of fact. you can find other stuff and make requests on [tumblr](http://blueshawaii.tumblr.com).

Erica’s favorite way to spend a Saturday night is in her bedroom with Stiles. She loves wearing matching Batman pajamas with him (something they deny to their friends) and stealing popcorn-flavored kisses whenever she can. They alternate between video games, TV, and movies, with the first and third Saturdays being Stiles’ choice and the second and fourth being Erica’s. Their taste is almost identical, though, so it doesn’t really matter who chooses. They even rewatch movies sometimes, like every Star Wars film, Batman Returns, and even embarrassing things, like Sleeping Beauty, but there’s no one between them to judge or complain. She’s happy with him, happier than she’d ever really expected herself to be.

Even when she’d liked him before, when she’d daydreamed about what dating him would be like, she had underestimated it. Everything she’d wanted came with the title of “girlfriend,” like rides to and from school, joy riding, sleeping in the back of his jeep, sex in his jeep, sex in the woods, sex in empty classrooms, sex in the locker room, sex on the lacrosse field, sex under the bleachers, sex in the library, sex at his house, sex at her house, and the simple joy of being in love, but there were so many things she’d never imagined, like nicknames, Eskimo kisses, unconditional trust, undying loyalty, complete honesty, stability, birth control (he paid for it every month; they just couldn’t afford the amount of condoms they needed,) secrets, and frantic, whispered promises of forever that she knew neither of them would break. She didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky.

“I love you,” she says, speaking loud enough for him to hear her over the Star Trek theme. They’ve seen the movie a thousand times and she isn’t watching it as much as she’s watching him. She has her head on his shoulder and her arm over his waist, with a hand dipping beneath his shirt to possessively curl her fingers around the curve of his hip.

He turns to her with his eyebrows raised and a grin playing on his lips. She remembers when he could barely even speak around her. She leans up to catch his lips in a kiss, soft and quick, and then peppers a line of them down his jaw.

“Mm, I love you.. What’s this for?” He asks, his voice husky. She loves hearing him talk about anything at all. Just the sound of his voice makes her heart beat faster. He could read her a grocery list and she would listen for hours, mesmerized.

“Existing,” she replies simply, moving her hand from his hip to his face to cup his jaw. She pulls him to her and leans up to kiss him, a bit more firmly this time.

“You know how I like it when you do that thing where you inhale,” she murmurs against his lips.

His grin wins out against his need to tease her, and she feels it against her mouth. She playfully flicks her tongue over his teeth and bumps her nose against his once, twice, and very nearly thrice before his mouth catches hers again. His tongue traces her bottom lip and she grants it entry, whimpering softly as it slips into her mouth. Kissing him is never any less mind blowing. She pulls him closer with the hand on his face, letting it drop down to the back of his neck to draw him closer.

“Only when I inhale?” He whispers once they pull away, out of breath. His lips are swelling from her kisses and she can’t help herself, she leans in to gently suck the bottom one. She almost forgets to roll her eyes at what he says, but she doesn’t. She pulls away from him and pressed their foreheads together, shaking her head.

“Yeah, there’s nothing attractive about carbon dioxide, sorry.”

He sighs dramatically, flopping over onto his back. He reaches up to pull her with him, dragging her body on top of his. She adjusts to him naturally, with her legs falling open to rest on either side of his hips and the soft curve of her chest molding to the firm slope of his so comfortably it’s like she was made to be with him. His hands come up to her hair, threading themselves into the golden mess of curls. She’s wearing it natural today.

“And to think, I watched Star Trek with you.” He tries to sound offended.

“The movie was good. You said it yourself. You even cried when Spock’s mom died, you little shit, don’t try that on me,” she says, but the smile on her face betrays her words. She kisses him again, softer, and lets her lips trail over his chin and along the underside, over his Adam’s apple, until she’s at the collar of his shirt.

“It was alright,” he says, sounding strained. She can feel the reason why starting to press against her hip. Even through both of their pajama bottoms and his boxers (she isn’t allowed to wear underwear on the weekends,) she can feel the heat, and her body it with a slick heat of its own. She can hear his heartbeat too, hammering throughout his body and hers, overtaking even her own. She’s overwhelmed by him a lot.

“Good,” she repeats against his skin. She parts her lips to suck at one of her favorite places to leave marks, but when he says, “Decent,” she digs her teeth into him instead.

He hisses lowly, but she feels the heat grow, hears the already unsteady thud of his heart pick up like a horse in a rodeo. She smirks and moved her hips so that the bulge of his dick presses against the softness between her legs, rolling her body against his. He gasps softly, his fingers clenching in her hair before they find their usual home at the small of her back, splaying out. His hands are large, and when they slide up the back of her shirt, calloused skin gliding roughly over smooth and supple,   she remembers how much she loves them. And him. But she doesn’t say so right now. She licks her lips instead.

“Babe. It was pretty good,” she says, pressing down against him harder. She knows he can feels how wet he makes her just by existing, and she knows it’s a kneejerk response that makes his hips arch, but it makes her smirk anyway.

“Right? How’d you put it, actually? _Awesome_?” Her tone is singsong and playful, contrasting with the wetness between her thighs. She giggles before she takes his hands into hers, pulling them away from her back. He’s confused for a moment before she has his hands above his head, pinned against the mattress.

“You can’t touch me ‘til you admit it,” she says firmly.

He groans lowly and closes his eyes for a split second. When they flutter open, the lids are heavy and they’re like melted chocolate, glazed over with lust. His cheeks are flushed, dark pink offset beautifully by an olive tan, framing where mouth has fallen open, kiss swollen lips parted for the shallow pants that have become his breathing. It’s easy for her to work him up, for their relationship to slide fluidly between playful and sincere, innocence and desire, but the sight is beautiful every time. She shivers as she takes it in, commits it to memory: Stiles in a white t-shirt and Batman pajamas, with his hair a mess on a lazy Saturday night, while the moonlight streams in through the window beside her bed, illuminating him and making everything seem whimsical. He’s hers. He’s beautiful, and he’s all for her. 

She bows her head to kiss his lips, then his jaw and his neck, seeking out her favorite place, the one where she’s left tiny indents of her teeth.

“I can do this though,” he mumbles, as defiant as always. His hips press up into hers and he rotates them in a slow circle that makes her whimper. Her eyes close now, tight, and she curses him under her breath. He’s always finding loopholes.

“That’s not fair,” she whines, breathless. She opens her eyes just to glare at him and presses his wrists down on the bed more firmly, which only causes him to grind up again, harder this time. Her head falls forward, sending her hair cascading over her face and his in a messy sheet of gold. He chuckles lowly.

“You’re not gonna win,” he taunts, his voice soft. She huffs and raises her head, moving his wrists so she has both  in one hand. Her hand is up his shirt before he can register what’s happening, with two of her fingers catching one of his nipples between them in a gentle squeeze. They’re sensitive, embarrassingly so (according to him,) and the touch coaxes a soft moan. She rubs the pad of her thumb over it, teasing it into hardening, and then she moves to the other.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are not.”

“Am so.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

Her hand stays up his shirt for a moment longer before she slips it between them. His hips arch, eager, and she chuckles softly.

“Nuh uh uh,” she says softly, tsking at him under her breath.

She slides her hand into her own pants instead, keeping her eyes on his as she slides a finger into herself. It feels good, makes her gasp softly, but she tightens, clenches, tries to pull it deeper into her, to soothe the burning ache between her hips. Her body wants him, the girth of his fingers or his cock, or the agile expertise of his tongue, but she ignores it. She moves against her finger for a moment, until her knuckles are sticky and slick, then she pulls her hand out. She reaches out to drag the tip of her finger over his bottom lip, leaving a glistening streak in its wake. His tongue darts out immediately and she hears him take a sharp breath in response to her taste. He’s got a bit of an oral fixation, always has. His lips part, trying to catch her finger between them, and she yanks her hand away from him with a smirk.

“So, how was Star Trek?” She asks him, raising her hand up to her mouth. She smells sweet and musky, with a salty undertone that makes even her own mouth water. She makes a show of  cleaning her fingers with her tongue, keeping her eyes on his and gliding her hips along the shaft of his cock through their clothes, an easy, fluid move of her hips against his.

“Holy fuck, Erica,” he gasps - very nearly whimpers, actually. One of her favorite sounds. She commits it to memory with the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of her lips, threatening to overtake her smirk. She manages to fight it off, until he adds, “Good. Great. Amazing, perfect. Best movie ever. Better than Star Wars. Fuck me.”

She can’t hold back a burst of laughter, or the swell of warmth that starts in her chest and floods the rest of her, feeling like electricity and sunlight and butterflies all at once. She squirms under the weight of how much she loves him and moves both of her hands down to his hips, keeping a hold on him as she rolls off of him and brings him to rest on top of her. Her legs fall open just as naturally like this, and she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair once, twice before she twists her fingers into it, dragging him down to kiss him, hungry and possessive and grateful that he’s there with her. He sucks her tongue greedily, trying to savor the taste of her he’d been denied before. She wiggles her way out of her pajama bottoms and kicks them away.

She pulls his shirt over his head along with her own, adding to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. She kisses his bottom lip softly before she nips it, speaking into his mouth, “That’s what we’re watching next week.”

“But it’s my turn,” he protests weakly. It’s hard to sound like he means anything other than “yes” and “fuck me” when she’s pulling his pajama bottoms and boxers off together. She tosses them over his shoulder and adjusts herself again, hooking her legs around his waist.

“I know,” she replies simply. She’s aching and her vision is cloudy, everything about her overcome by her desire for him. Nearly everything, at least. The need to win petty play fights with her boyfriend stays strong, thrumming just beneath her steadily mounting desperation for him.

As he rolls his eyes, his hand moves between them to wrap around his cock. He strokes himself once before he slides down, rubbing the head against her entrance. She moans, and her body betrays her by arching, offering itself to him. Offering anything he wants to him, really, if he’ll just fuck her. She closes her eyes tightly.

“Are you sure we’re watching Star Trek, Little Wolf?” He asks her softly. She doesn’t know when his mouth got by her ear, or when his free hand got on her chest, or why there isn’t enough air in the room for her to catch her breath, but she gives a shaky gasp.

She stays where she is for a few heartbeats of time, soaking up the sensation, the sounds and the smells, but then she pushes up against him, taking advantage of her angle and the element of surprise. His cock sinks into her slowly, inch by inch, and by the time his balls settle against the curve of her ass, the only sound louder than the relieved whimper from her is the moan from him. She buries her face into the crook of his neck and digs her nails into his back, fighting to hold back the beast inside of her that wants to tear him to shreds every time he has her like this - vulnerable and open, feral and needy. She swallows hard, feels the fire he lights inside of her burn her throat before it settles between her hips.  


“Yep,” she pants.

He pauses for a moment, his hips trembling and his fingers clenching the sheet underneath her. He seems to be thinking over his options, and finally he lets out a defeated sigh.

“You win,” he concedes. He doesn’t sound very upset about it, and she doesn’t think she would care if he did, because he’s rolling his hips, grinding the head of his cock against her spot.

Ignoring the molten lava that’s bubbling between her hips, she pulls away from his neck and flashes him a bright, triumphant grin.

“I know.”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“Gonna marry you just so I can divorce you.”

“Better make me sign a prenup.”

“How did I end up with such a mean girl?”

“How did you end up with such a _hot_ girl?”

“You’re alright.”

“I’m out of your league.”  


“What? Have you _seen_ me?”

“Yep.”

“Oh… Wow, ouch. See, you’re the worst!”

“I’m the best, Stilinski. You tell me so all the time! Remember? _Oh my god, babe, you feel so good. You’re the best._ ”

“I do _not_ sound like that.”

“ _I do **not** sound like that._ ”

“Oh my god.”

“ _Oh my god_.”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck me.”

“… Okay.”


End file.
